


Courage Must Be Tempered

by astudyinpanda



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Accidents, Angst, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jedi Code (Star Wars), Past Tense, Planet Quesh (Star Wars), Spoilers, Unspecified Gender Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinpanda/pseuds/astudyinpanda
Summary: After a speeder crash, the injured Hero of Tython is stuck in a Quesh swamp with an unconscious companion and no convenient way back to base.
Kudos: 2





	Courage Must Be Tempered

The knight had never been good at healing. The masters lectured and assigned task after task to teach the skill. With a lot of concentration, the knight had learned to push along the body's natural healing for simple burns from brushing against a lightsaber blade, but time did more for the burns than the knight's efforts did.

What the knight _had_ learned to do, and what the masters had never intentionally taught, was to put off catastrophic pain. Not forever, not even for very long, but for long enough to complete a mission. Part of that was a small but constant Force pressure to brace broken bones. Part of it was completely unmystical stubbornness. In combination with meditative focus the masters praised almost as often as lightsaber skill, the knight could power through almost anything, for a while.

Which was how the knight ended up walking through a Quesh swamp on an injured knee with Kira slung over both shoulders.

Well, that hadn't all been down to the knight's stubbornness. The two Jedi had won the battle because of stubbornness, and, as with all battles against Sith, because the Force came in on the side of right when the Jedi had needed it most. But that Sith had gotten a solid kick in before the end.

The kick had... Torn things, in that knee. It flopped and seized with pain unless the knight supported the joint with a gentle Force push. _Best not to think on that._

And stubbornness was part of why the knight hadn't asked the Republic medics to do something about the knee. If they couldn't treat the injury in the field, they'd send the knight back to the Republic base anyway. Why wait? Besides, the soldiers would complain about hauling the speeder back to base, and it was a good speeder. It'd get damaged banging around in a troop or cargo transport.

So the knight limped to the speeder's hiding place behind the building, while Kira complained about Quesh's ever-present odor, the soldiers' frequent demands for comms silence, the acidic liquid that pooled where water would be on other populated planets. The liquid ran close along the road, over it in parts.

The knight could've sworn that the speeder handled those thin streams of noxious liquid over the road just fine, on the way here. Perhaps the speeder had taken blaster fire at some point, or perhaps the knight paid more attention to the torn knee's dull agony than the road. One way or another, the speeder skidded on a stream.

It threw Kira and the knight before it righted itself. Without a guiding hand, the vehicle zoomed straight into a boulder. The knight landed on the bank as well as possible, though the knee gave out at once. _Breathe. In. Out. Let the pain sink beneath the life force that enables it. Good enough. Find Kira_. She should've been joking about the knight's driving by now.

Kira had not landed on her feet. She lay half on the stream's bank with her legs in the yellow liquid. Her clothes steamed with a new and acrid stench where they contacted the stream.

The knight said her name. Although she breathed, she did not reply. Her neck and spine and skull felt intact. With minimal swearing, the knight marked the speeder's wreckage on the map, lifted Kira, and began to walk.

They hadn't gotten far from the place where they'd fought the Sith. Something warm trickled down the knight's back. Kira wasn't bleeding enough to convince the knight that she'd die before they reached a bacta tank, but enough to force an increase in their pace.

The knight stumbled and gasped foul air. Pain in the injured knee flared past what had barely been endurable a moment before. The thick air swallowed the knight's cry like the mud accepted the weight when the knight fell.

_There is no emotion. No frustration. No fear._

The knight stood, groaning as the weight of two people strained torn ligaments. Green gunk sank into torn skin. There was harmony, the burden balanced against Quesh's gravity, spread between the muscles and bones whole enough to function.

There was harmony in the path from the fetid swamp to the Republic base and its med center. Step by painful step, the knight found a place in that harmony. Like in the best kinds of fights, each foot found again its most effective place to push the knight closer to the position that would let the battle end in victory. Not concentrating on the pain drove the knight's mind to focus on following the flow, keeping up with it to--

The next fall was harder. Rising, harder still.

The open wounds burned, a brighter pain than the dire ache in the torn knee. The knight put more effort into keeping Kira off the sludge-dampened soil than keeping the wounds clean. The med center's doctors would clean everything as soon as the two of them reached the base.

The knight's breath came in heavy gasps that dragged foul air through clenched teeth. A stop to clear the lungs didn't take much time, but it required more energy than the knight had expected. The temptation to sit beside the road and watch for a Republic vehicle harried the knight's every step.

Kira's condition might worsen while they rested, and besides, Imperial troops used these roads too. The knight couldn't win another fight in this state. That was motivation enough to keep moving forward.

The activity of sentient life grew louder in the knight's senses, allowing for a straighter path to the base. A short eternity later, a walker loomed above the treeline to mark the excruciating journey's end. The knight staggered during the approach to the outer defenses, but did not fall. Not this time. Not this close to the med center.

Soldiers stared as the knight limped past. There weren't many Jedi on Quesh, and there were certainly no muddier Jedi anywhere in this sector. Several minutes after the knight had limped past the perimeter, someone thought to get a stretcher for Kira. The knight could not find the breath to ask for one.

As soon as two soldiers had helped the knight lay Kira on the stretcher, the knight eased down to take a knee on the hastily paved walkway beside the road. Despite all the Force support the knight had directed to the injured knee, it had swollen to double the size of the one that now held most of the knight's weight.

Now that Kira was on her way to the doctors who'd help her, little else pushed the knight onward. Nobody on this walkway could do anything about the injury, though, or the pain. The knight's head bowed under the effort of slowing shallow breaths and gathering the resolve to stand one more time.

"Here, Jedi, you're next."

Kira's blood stained the stretcher that hovered behind two Republic medics. The distance to the med center, though short, would extend with the agony of walking on the injury again. No meditative technique could compete with that wound now, but the knight could make it there alone.

"Come on, we already know you're a hero. You don't have to prove it by walking 'til your leg comes off." One of the medics patted the stretcher twice. "Now it's your turn to take a ride."

The other medic seemed to be searching the hills outside the base. Watching for snipers, probably. Remaining in the open put these soldiers at risk. The knight stood and allowed the medics to offer balance.

"I appreciate your help," the knight admitted, still seated on the stretcher. Lying down would've felt too much like defeat. The medics set the stretcher into motion. It jerked forward, sending a jolt of pain through the knight before the sensation faded to its the previous, manageable level.

"You killed us a Sith," a medic said. "The least we can do is walk you to the surgery droid."

"How's Kira?"

"That's the Jedi you carried here? We prefer them conscious, but the docs will fix her up. Now, we have questions for you, and the faster you answer, the faster we can get you some painkillers."

That was a reminder that although the knight couldn't heal with the Force, there were other important skills in the universe. The medics' questions fell into a hazy rhythm, almost like sparring. The knight let them form the beginnings of a trance that'd allow stillness no matter what their machines had to do to heal the injured knee.

One Sith was dead, but many more plagued the galaxy. There'd be another fight soon. The knight intended to be ready for it.

**Author's Note:**

> This story's title and writing style (weird rubber-banding third person POV, too many adjectives, etc.) were influenced by _The Spirit Ring_ by Lois McMaster Bujold, which is an epic fantasy tale full of better descriptions than mine. Her characters have names, too. Check it out from [your local library](https://www.worldcat.org/search?q=ti%3Athe+spirit+ring+au%3ALois+McMaster+Bujold&qt=advanced&dblist=638).


End file.
